Page 65 of Forever Dark
Selena set the photo back carefully.She felt a pang.Selena always did her best not to show her emotions.But the truth was, the job took a toll.She felt the loss.The fact Brenda had no family other than a distant cousin made it almost feel worse.Other than Gus and a remorseful ex, there was no one to grieve for her.Selena would have to do that herself.
She was hoping she’d find something that would connect her to a church or chapel, considering the religious nature of her death.But she was being disappointed at every turn.
Nothing religious there.Nothing secretive.No ministry card tucked in a book.No desperate note hidden in a drawer.
The kitchen came next.
A cereal bowl sat crusted in the sink beside two mugs with coffee rings dried at the bottom.Magnets on the fridge held a diner shift schedule, an overdue utility bill, and a child’s drawing in bright marker that could only have belonged to someone else’s kid.A friend they didn’t know about?One drawer held rubber bands, a flashlight, loose batteries, and unused envelopes.Another gave up paper napkins, takeout menus, and a bundle of plastic cutlery.Pantry shelves held canned soup, cheap pasta, crackers, instant noodles.
Mail on the counter said Brenda was behind on more than one payment.Water.Electric.Credit card.A doctor’s reminder card for an appointment she had missed.Grocery receipts.No church bulletins.No notes from clergy.No sign-up slips for a Bible group.No devotional book with a folded page.
Selena stood by the counter and looked over it again.
If Brenda had been reaching for religion, she was hiding it well.Usually, people who were religiously inclined sign-posted it with an occasional trinket or painting.But nothing so far.
Bathroom next.
Cheap shampoo.Cheap foundation.Pink disposable razor.Pack of cigarettes tucked behind towels in the cabinet as if she had once meant to quit and then stopped performing the effort for anyone.Medicine cabinet stocked with aspirin, antacids, tampons, an expired antibiotic prescription.Nothing useful.
Bedroom last.
That room carried more of Brenda than the others.Bed unmade.Laundry half folded in a plastic basket.Jeans over a chair.Drugstore hairbrush on the dresser tangled with dark strands.A necklace with a broken clasp.One bottle of perfume nearly empty.Another framed photo, this one Brenda alone somewhere outdoors holding a plastic cup and laughing at whoever stood outside the edge of the shot.
Selena searched the dresser.
Socks.Underwear.T-shirts.One donation envelope with no church name written on it and nothing inside.A Bible turned up in the bedside drawer.For a second she thought she had it.Then she opened it and found clean pages, no underlining, no notes, just a funeral card tucked into Psalms from Brenda’s mother’s service five years earlier.
Closet next.A winter coat.Several dresses in plastic from the dry cleaner.Selena wondered if she used them when she was working as an escort.Unfortunately, if they had been dry cleaned, there was almost no chance of getting DNA from the dresses to identify who her customers were.Shoes lined up unevenly on a couple of shelves.A cardboard box on the top shelf holding old birthday cards and pictures of what looked like grandparents when Brenda was young.
Selena climbed down from the bed and stood with both hands on her hips.
Nothing.
She went back into the kitchen and stood very still.People sometimes disposed of their hopes.They’re just too painful, like looking at the warming sun while flailing in icy waters.
That thought came quietly, then stayed.
A woman might keep love letters.She might keep old photographs.But if Brenda had attended something that felt raw or shameful or naive, something that admitted she needed saving, she may not have wanted that lying on the counter for anyone to see.Not a neighbor.Not a boyfriend.Not a man leaving her room.Hope could humiliate people when it arrived too late in life.
If she had gone somewhere on impulse, she might not have filed the proof away.
She might have thrown it out.
Selena’s gaze dropped to the trash can under the sink.
“There you are,” she murmured.
She pulled on gloves, took out the bag, and got to work.
Coffee grounds clung to a takeout lid.Eggshells cracked softly under her fingers through the latex.Junk mail.A yogurt cup.Bread wrapper.Greasy paper from a burger.
Halfway down, Selena found a piece of thick paper trapped between a frozen-meal sleeve and a damp envelope.
She drew it free and unfolded it carefully.
MERCY ROAD MINISTRIES
The words sat in red over a white tent painted gold from within, the sort of image designed to look holy to lonely people in parking lots.
